


In Plain Sight

by Wizard95



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, canon compliant but also not bc i say we all need some fluff eh?, i don't control my muse she controls me, relationship tags may be added or changed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22647025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard95/pseuds/Wizard95
Summary: [ON INDEFINITE HIATUS] Lieutenant Nixon turns around and looks her up and down again, like he can’t quite wrap the idea of her being a woman around his mind. A woman, in uniform, in an all-male camp. She’s getting quite tired of it, frankly, of him frowning like something’s bothering him.(In which Olivia Brown becomes Oliver Brown, a sniper assigned to E Company of the 101st Airborne Division).
Relationships: Alex Penkala & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know this will be historically inaccurate since I got the idea after watching [a russian film](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4084744/) (and snipers' training was different and much more thorough than the one received in the USA, where they mostly had marskmen). For the sake of fanfiction though, let's ignore that (: Other than that I'll try my best not to derail too much from reality back in the 40's.

She stares out the window but doesn’t see much. Blurry colours most of all - trees, a house or two, plantations. The sky starts changing colour and doesn’t stop - soon it’s dark and _Mikey_ \- Lieutenant Campbell jerks up from his uncomfortable sleeping position in front of her.

He squints to make out the shapes outside, then blinks up at her as he fixes his tie.

“I told you to get some sleep” his voice is hoarse.

“I’m not tired” she says, fighting down the urge to shrug. She’s been trying to get used to it, the stupid list of rules he’d come up with for her to follow. No hugs, no friendly smiles, no patting, not standing closer than any other soldier would stand. No shrugging, none of her ‘usual snappy attitude’, as he so kindly put it.

One would think he couldn’t stand her.

“You will be, and pretty soon” Mikey groans as he sits up and rubs the back of his neck. “ _Agh…_ ”

Olivia can’t help the smile that creeps into her face, but she does try to hide it by turning to look out the window again. She doesn’t quite succeed.

“Yeah, you smile now - I’m not the one who’ll be sleeping rough on the dirt while a bunch of noisy soldiers have a piss next to me.”

“Gross” she shakes her head, her smile getting just bigger and bigger.

Michael Campbell. Best friend since school. A pain in your fucking ass. Who would think he’d make Lieutenant? Certainly not him. He had the Nazis to thank for that - and for his uncoordinated steps.

He has a quick look around to ensure everyone’s too engrossed in their own daydreaming (or actual dreaming) to catch his next few words; he leans over to her with a sly smile.

“Ever seen a dick before?”

“Of course” she answers, matter-of-factly. “I’m looking at one right now.”

He bursts out laughing but immediately seems to get control of his vocal chords. He straightens up and frowns - momentarily forgetting about that list of his himself, surely. He digs a couple of wrapped up candy from his pocket and extends his hand.

Olivia takes one and ignores that expression on his face again. She thought they were done with _that_ matter.

Alas, there was a reason why Mikey was a pain in her ass.

“Well, you have a gun” he nods, as if reassuring himself. “You stand your ground.”

“For heaven’s sake, will you shut up about it?” she mumbles. “I can look out for myself, I’m a goddamned sniper, gimme some credit.”

He leans forward again, voice hushed.

“Yeah, but you’re a sniper… _sniper_ ” he makes an odd face and has one more look around. “And boys are fucking stupid.”

“I’ll be fine, Lieutenant Campbell.”

She doesn’t look at him again - not for the next ten minutes, lest she give him a reason to continue raging on about how she could easily be found out and her prospects for a decent married life be ruined by some drunk paratrooper getting her pregnant in the middle of the war and far off in a different country - a different continent.

He just couldn’t see the bigger picture, sometimes. Sometimes he just kept seeing little Olivia, who beat him at baseball at any given day and who came for dinner every Friday after class. Even now, uniformed and blond hair cut short, he saw _her_.

He doesn’t bring it up again.

Twenty more minutes pass before the train comes to a stop, slowly. That bunch of nervous new recruits are up and formed before their superior has even got off his seat, and they march away first.

Mikey quickly checks his uniform’s tightly in place before giving her an icy look - back to being the unattached Lieutenant.

It’s hot outside and she walks straight into a cloud of mosquitoes soon as she steps off. The chirping of night crickets is deafening and she hears an owl or two perked up on nearby branches.

Other than that, it’s quiet at Camp Toccoa.

※ ※ ※

“Please stop that” Olivia finally barks, unable to see him walk to and fro for another minute. “You’re making me nervous.”

Michael shakes his head and checks the time on his wrist watch but he doesn’t stop walking.

“He was supposed to meet us at the entrance.”

“What a tragedy…” she mumbles, crossing her arms on her chest and leaning on the wall, rucksack resting on the floor along with her issued standard rifle. “How dare he?”

“I need to take the train back, Livy”

“It’s almost as if he was a higher-ranked intelligence officer and we his subordinates, making us wait like thi- did you just call me Livy?”

Just then the wooden door bursts open and in steps a black-haired well-groomed man, uniform in tip-top condition, spot-clean as if he’d just come out of the shower and his clothes out of an ironing house.

Five more seconds and Olivia finds that first assessment to be true - she thought they weren’t allowed such things as cologne?

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says, first looking at Michael and then turning to her and clearing his throat, “…gentlemen.”

Olivia stands to attention and Mikey takes a step towards him.

  
  
“Lieutenant Campbell, sir” he nods as he offers his hand.

“Lieutenant Lewis Nixon, pleasure”

As he turns to her once again, she wrecks her brains to try and remember him to no avail, she’s never been one for matching faces to names, not even with people she meets today let alone someone she’s supposed to have met years ago!

She never really paid much attention to her father’s guests, so there’s that too...

“Private…?”

She salutes.

“Brown, Sir! Oliver.”

Lieutenant Nixon finally shows a smile, gives her a once-over.

“Our sniper, right” he gestures for them to take a seat as he goes round the table and does so himself. “I seem to remember you being much more interested in dolls.”

The easiness with which he brings up the subject takes both her and Michael off guard, and her friend shifts uncomfortably in his seat and is about to open his mouth when she beats him to it.

“With all due respect sir, I don’t seem to remember you at all.”

Lewis Nixon lets out a laugh, and he takes the papers Mikey’s passing over with a firm grip. He doesn’t say anything as he quickly scans the information in them. Medical stuff. Training information. Michael shifts in his seat one more time and surreptitiously steals another glance at his wrist-watch.

Olivia restrains herself from kicking him under the table.

His uneasiness doesn’t go unnoticed, however, and Lieutenant Nixon frowns at him.

“I got it from here, Lieutenant. Don’t let us keep ya” he stands up to see him off, but Michael sends a bit of a pleading look to her before he gets on his feet.

_I’ll strangle you if you make a scene_ , she thinks, and tries to convey it with her death stare as well. It seems to get the point across, because her friend stumbles out of his seat to shake the Lieutenant’s hand once again.

“Can’t miss that train” Michael explains, nervously.

“No you can’t” Nixon smiles in return, ever so calm.

But for all the rush he’s in, Michael still doesn’t leave the office after that. He sends another look at her, as if saying: ‘you can take that train back with me if you want’. This time, Olivia doesn’t fight down that deep sigh.

She salutes him, face impassive. She must show him no regret, no second-thoughts. Even as her heart is racing and her hands are a bit too wet, if she so much as lets it show, lets a hint of doubt show, he’ll end up embarrassing them both. She can almost imagine him tugging at her uniform, struggling to her get out of there and back into the carriage, back into the city, begging her ‘not to waste her life like this’.

So she sends him a last icy look before she says: “Goodbye Lieutenant.”

And he finally pushes the door open and disappears without another word. When he’s out of sight she seems to be able to breath properly again.

“Well, then,” Nixon sits back down and she does the same. “This is an impressive resume but I see no aircraft training, no jumping.” He looks up from the papers. “And you _are_ joining an Airbone division. I hope you’re not afraid of heights?”

“Not at all sir.”

“Good. Why are you doing this?”

_Here we go_.

“Sir?”

“A female soldier, now that’s something you don’t see everyday, let alone a sniper. I’m assuming your father pulled a few strings? He always did say he wanted a boy.”

She looks him in the eye and doesn’t answer, puts on a poker face unequal to the amusing grin he’s sporting. It annoys her that she doesn’t even remember who he is, yet he’s managed to set her teeth on edge so quick. She doesn’t even remember who he is, but he does seem to remember who _she_ is, who her _father_ is, and what their family has been like since forever.

He seems to realize on his rudeness a little bit too late and he clears his throat.

“Your mother must be thrilled” he says, sarcastically but smiling no more, eyeing over the papers again.

“She’s dead” Olivia provides, deadpan. “So, no.”

That puts a stop to his rambling and he stares at her a little too long, at a loss for words.

“I… didn’t know that” he says, softly.

“Automobile accident” she explains, swallowing down that lump in her throat. Lieutenant Nixon shifts uncomfortably in his seat; Olivia’s relieved to see his attention’s back on her papers and off her personal life.

“I’m assigning you to 2nd platoon, E company” he stamps something down next to the picture of her face and puts the papers away in a drawer in a quick movement. “You’ll join them just in time for jumping practise. I’ll show you to the sleeping quarters.”

She stands up along with him, grabs her muffle bag from the corner along with her M1903 and follows him outside - or so she intends to do, before he stops on his tracks and turns around with his hand on the doorknob.

“You’re a man from now on” his face takes on a serious, almost dark expression. “You understand that means no special treatment, earn your jump-wings and you’ll be just another paratrooper. I’m giving you a last chance, Brown, to back down. You go out that door both your head and mine are on the line. We could get court-martialed for this.”

“I understand, sir”

“I know you do” Nixon nods, “but war is no place for women and I can’t make myself responsible for you.”

“Did someone ask you to, sir?” she answers, with the same stoic expression she’s kept since Michael walked out. _War is no place for anyone_ , she adds in her head.

Lewis Nixon is a good person, Olivia considers, as he stays silent and swallows down his answer. A good man, someone her mother would’ve wanted her to marry. Someone many _women_ would want to marry, no doubt. For a moment, she wonders if he’s going to send her back. If once they’re out and go down those steps, they’re going to turn in direction to the entrance instead of the barracks.

But they don’t.

“Headquarters” the Lieutenant points as they walk past the wooden cabin, there’s a light on inside. “Latrines, the kitchen, training ground” he keeps pointing out as they walk the entire length of the camp. With a steady pace she keeps up, clutching her rifle and bag over her shoulder with clammy palms. “Showers that way” he stops for a brief moment and Olivia has to catch herself before she collides with him.

The whole place is uncharacteristically quiet, but she refrains from asking any unnecessary questions. They can’t all be sleeping this early, right? She hasn’t seen so much as a sign of life around safe for a few lightning bulbs glittering in the inside of seemingly-empty cabins.

Lieutenant Nixon turns around and looks her up and down again, like he can’t quite wrap the idea of her being a woman around his mind. A woman, in uniform, in an all-male camp. She’s getting quite tired of it, frankly, of him frowning like something’s bothering him.

And that something is her.

“About time” he looks back front at the sound of boots hitting the ground, checks his wrist-watch.

Olivia squints to make out the far-away shapes moving towards them, coming out of the dark like a platoon of ghost commandos. When they’re close enough to make out their faces, she thinks they actually resemble the dead, with their pale sweaty faces and unflinching expressions of misery.

“Halt!” their commander demands, coming up front in a quick sprint. The mass of shadows comes to a stop immediately, “Easy Company, canteens out and open!”

They collectively pour the contents out and a Private Christenson gets the biased attention and ill-humour of one Captain Sobel. Olivia steals a few glances at Lieutenant Nixon next to her and thinks she sees him clench his jaw a couple of times. When her new Captain makes a beeline towards them, stomping like an enraged bull, she stands to attention before he gets there and pays no mind to the scattering men behind, undoubtedly eager to hit the showers and then their pillows.

“Captain” Nixon nods respectfully. Sobel doesn’t spare him a look but in turn pins her down with a murderous glare. “This is private Brown, sniper. New addition to E co-”

“Private Brown!” he cuts him off. “You will join Private Christenson running up Currahee!”

“Yes, sir!”

Sobel takes a step closer and yanks her bag off her shoulders without warning. Lieutenant Nixon takes a step aside, standing up straight and crossing his arms behind his back, silent.

The captain weighs the bag with one hand and makes a disgruntled face, then he turns around and shouts another of his annoyingly-loud orders to the closest member of Easy Company.

“Private Guarnere!”

He’s her same height, and he takes a step closer and glances at the unfamiliar rifle hanging from her left shoulder, then at her unfamiliar face.

“Sir.”

“Hand over your bag!” Sobel yanks it out of his arms as well, throws it at her chest. It’s at least three times the weight of her belongings. “Off you go, Private _Brown_.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice: without looking back she fixes her gaze on the shape of her fellow trooper running back into the beaten track and catches up with him in a matter of seconds, already feeling the weight on her back slowing her down.

He double-checks when she appears to his right.

“Who are _you_?” he asks, breath agitated already.

“Oliver.”

The ground picks up height sooner than expected. Private Christenson doesn’t seem to notice the change, however, and Olivia supposes that would happen to someone who’s run up that hill countless times already.

“Assigned to E company… as a sniper” she tells him in between breaths. Her arms are already dropping her gun lower.

“Nice” is the last thing her companion says in the whole trip up.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s no doubt whatever training these men are being put through is thorough and demanding (not that _hers_ hasn’t been, except she can’t really say she’s been made to run up and down a mountain in full gear in the middle of the bloody night. If anything, she’s been doing quite the opposite: just staying in one specific spot unflinching, unmoving and patiently waiting for her targets to give themselves away and receive a couple of harmless empty shells right in the chest).

Private Christenson keeps putting each foot in front of the other without delay, without stop or hesitation.

She, on the other hand…

“I can’t…” she wheezes, her M1903 dangling from her shoulder - Captain Sobel would surely have something to say about that. _Private Brown, pick up that goddamn rifle!_

Christenson is a few steps ahead but glances back nonetheless at her breathless remark.

“Believe me, you don’t want to antagonize Sobel” he provides, turning back front. Olivia frowns but hasn’t got enough breath to muster an answer. She’ll antagonize him, all right, or she’ll fall dead before she can reach the top. “He’ll feist on you, newbie.”

This time she lets out a groan and almost falls face down on the dirt - courtesy of a protruding rock. Christenson looks back to her again at the sound of the near-trip.

“He can’t be that bad!” she says, trying to maybe make conversation and sway her attention from her dry throat and throbbing feet, “go on, I’ll meet ya at the top.”

The other private lets out a snort and - bless him - stops running to look at her hunched over and panting her lungs out. He smiles, the mocking idiot, and shakes his head.

“C’mon man we’re nearly there” he nods towards the darkening path ahead, but Olivia gestures for him to continue with an insistent hand gesture.

“You go, I’ll catch up” she stands up straight, thinking maybe she shouldn’t be slumping down like that, like a wounded animal. Not a great first impression. “Save yourself from the wrath of the big bad wolf” she smiles, getting just a bit more air in her lungs now.

Christenson returns the smile and slowly resumes his pace, slowly so as to give her a chance to join in.

She doesn’t. She feels faint.

She really wasn’t prepared for this - she’d only been here for thirty minutes, for crying out loud!

_You’re supposed to have this mastered, remember?_

Well, sue her. They didn’t have a Currahee to climb back in her training camp.

Her companion isn’t going to risk getting further punishment himself - he gives a short nod in camaraderie and starts getting further away with every second. Olivia doesn’t blame him at all. She does make it to the top eventually, about twenty minutes after he runs past her again.

In short: she’s screwed.

Christenson is nowhere to be seen when she finally makes it back into the training grounds - but Sobel is standing there like a persevering life-statue of Satan himself, arms crossed and stone-faced.

He doesn’t allow her the time to make any excuses.

“Follow me” he simply says, looking way too pleased with himself, much to Olivia’s chagrin. She’s properly carrying her rifle now, and Private Guarnere’s rucksack is still on her back. Her boots are muddy and her pants dirty. As for her lungs… probably barely functional.

She doesn’t appreciate her Captain making her walk the entire length of the camp again only to reach his own office and dump all her belongings at the foot of the steps, at _her_ feet.

“You are not fit to be part of my company, private. I suggest you go back to whatever shithole you came out of and repeat whatever shitty training you got. I’ll see you in a couple of years.”

With that, he starts stomping away.

“Sir -”

And he turns around just as quick, furiously stomps back.

“I did _not_ grant you permission to address me, Private” he speaks slowly, clenching his teeth and eyeing her down like she’s the worst scum of the earth.

“Sir -” she shoulders her rifle and stands up straight. “Permission to speak, sir?”

“Denied.”

_You tight-up bastard._

He resumes his walking to the kitchens - light up and cheery - undoubtedly packed till the last table with freshly-clean and tired paratroopers-to-be.

She knows she’s pushing her luck, but she catches up with him again - only a few more chances to try and make him change his mind before he ventures into the sea of soldiers where she cannot follow - what an embarrassing sight that would be, her being turned down and sent back within the hour.

“Sir, I am a sniper, I have passed all my tests - physical and otherwise - I am prepared _to-_ ”

“Well you have not passed _my_ test, private, and this conversation is over.” He doesn’t turn around as he dismisses her again. She’s only grateful he hasn’t called her on her insubordination again - speaking out of turn.

The chanting from the kitchens becomes louder and the lights become stronger as they approach - and Olivia is short of aiming up that gun at the bastard and shooting that hat off his head.

“Sir - Captain Sir -”

“ _WHAT?_ ” He turns around for the second time, spitting on her face like a venomous snake.

Olivia takes a deep breath and stands up straight again, proud.

“I am the finest sniper in my company sir, you can verify that in my papers! I have been assigned to the Airborne as an asset and to aid my comrades in battle! And rest assured I am qualified to do that, sir!”

Her captain seems to weigh her words for a moment. She holds her breath - he can turn around and push that door open and that’ll be the end of it. Lieutenant Nixon will come out and tell her ‘I told you so’ with an egotistical knowing-smile. Mikey will mention it till she’s gray and pissing her pants. God, her father will never speak to her again!

“Very well” Captain Sobel stands up straight himself, and Olivia thinks she’s misheard. There’s a glint in his eyes that she doesn’t notice - he turns around and enters the noisy lunch place and renders it rather silent. He’s out before she can let out that breath, and he’s holding a glass in his hand. “Let us be witness of your almighty abilities!”

And she’s got an audience now - Christenson among the lot, carelessly sharing a fag with a shorter bloke next to him, coming down the steps.

“I ain’t got all night!” Sobel shouts as he walks away - Olivia catches Lieutenant Nixon’s eyes for a split second before she turns around and walks to that bag of rice her Captain has just hastily thrown onto the ground at her feet. He yanks her rifle off her shoulder just like he did with her muffle bag earlier and he makes a face at it as he finds the safe lock. “Three shots, Private Brown. The chance to prove your worth. You miss, you’re out of my camp.”

“I - my bag sir, the ammo -”

“You won’t be using your rifle” Sobel almost sings in his mocking voice, as if addressing a five-year-old, as if that’s obvious information. The Captain makes a nod to someone near, and Olivia turns around to see a short-haired ginger hand over an M1.

When she looks back to Sobel, he’s well away. Far enough that she wouldn’t even hit a melon with this piece of crap.

_Well, make do._

Ignoring the mumbling going on behind her - getting louder and only meaning her crowd of onlookers is getting bigger - she silently and slowly kneels and then gets down onto her position, resting her upper chest and left arm on the bag of rice and finding it very uncomfortable.

Sobel shakes the glass in the air and sets it on the ground, easily more than 300 feet away.

“Three!” he shouts again, just in case she didn’t understand him before.

“For heaven’s sake” she hears someone mumble near in disbelief, she doesn’t turn to look at him - not that she’d be able to find him anyway.

“Told ya to keep it up, boy” Christenson’s voice comes up among all the excited bets being placed. “That’s the big bad wolf right there” he laughs. Olivia clenches her teeth.

The M1 is less practical to maneuver, and she’s just getting into position when she hears someone coming up to her. Shiny boots.

“Get up, private” Lewis Nixon demands, impassible.

She doesn’t flinch.

Isn’t Sobel the one who’s got the last say, anyway?

“No, sir. I’m fine.”

“You’re panting like a dying goose, you're not gonna hit that target now _get on your feet_.”

She still doesn’t move - despite knowing he’s damned well right. She’s only postponing the inevitable. That is a fucking transparent glass - it’s dark and she doesn’t even have the proper equipment.

She sighs, focuses on slowing down her breaths. She’s shaking too much.

“Got nothing to lose sir, I fail I go.”

The Lieutenant lingers for a bit longer, as if battling with his thoughts. He gives up shortly after and takes a few steps back towards the men.

Sobel is impatiently waiting at a safe-distance from her target - an insulting stretch of land, she thinks, and it only helps to feed her resolve to make it burst into a million tiny pieces of glass right in front of him. She’s still not ready, though, and with half of Easy Company on her rear being inconsiderately loud, she’s definitely not coming down her hype any time soon.

“Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye…” a mocking voice sings near, laughter follows.

_I will be saving your fucking asses, you bunch of ungrateful idiots._

“Cheeri-o, here I go, on my way!” a few more voices join in.

When she sees Sobel taking a step towards them she gets lower - even closer to the ground - and rests her finger on the trigger to gain herself some time. She can barely make out the shape of the glass by squinting her eyes. It’s too damn far!

“Ey blondie, think ya could aim a little more to the left and up?” Someone jokes near, and that nearly prompts a laugh out of her. Good to know someone’s sharing her sentiment.

She takes the first shot in between heartbeats - just as she’s learnt and just as she’s always succeeded in hitting her targets before.

This one she doesn’t hit.

She tries to drown out the _whoops_ and giggles from behind and clear her mind - closing her eyes, breathing down deep, _deeper._ Letting the air out slowly through her mouth and completely shutting one eye to get a better perspective - it doesn’t make much difference: the next shot doesn’t reach its target either.

Sobel starts making his way back, swaying proudly like the egotistical asshole he is.

‘ _Don’t dwell on it, just shoot. Don’t think, if you’re calm enough you take the shot, you’ll have mayhem around you, you don’t have time to think! Time is not on your side! Just. Shoot._ ’

At the sound of the glass exploding, she sees Sobel turn around abruptly to confirm what he’s just heard has actually happened - to be honest, it’s his reaction what makes her believe it as well, and his unhappy face as he stomps his way back to the group. She’s still on the floor - frozen in place by shock - when a bunch of guys behind start cheering.

_Actually_ cheering.

By the time she’s on her feet again, Sobel is nowhere to be seen and she feels a bit like throwing up. She only sees the back of Lieutenant Nixon walking behind the hellish Captain before she’s surrounded by men patting her shoulder and grinning at her like she’s their pet-puppy.

She’s never felt so out of place in her entire life.

“Holy shit!”

“Imma be honest I thought you were outta here” a tall blonde one says with a strong southern accent.

“Did you see Sobel’s face?” A shorter one asks to no-one in particular, excitedly.

“What platoon you on?”

Olivia turns to the ginger as everyone becomes silent and awaits her answer.

“2nd Platoon” she says, uninterested, still rather dazed by the whole thing.

There’s more cheering after that.

Another brown-haired trooper throws an arm around her shoulder, “Whas’ your name again?” he asks, offering a happy grin.

“It’s Oliver you muck!” someone provides near.

“Outta my way boys! Imma get young Oli here a drink,” he offers his hand, Olivia shakes it with her free one, still tightly holding onto the M1 Garand that isn’t even hers. “Alex Penkala.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7EUytEX_XkE) is the song they were singing.
> 
> I did do my research on the weaponry, hope it's not too inaccurate!


	3. Chapter 3

The nervousness of the arrival, the prospect of being turned away by Lieutenant Nixon despite previous arrangements and the impromptu marathon she’s been made to run uphill make her scrunch up her nose at the smell of the dining place. She isn’t the slightest bit hungry.

She does down that glass of water within a couple of seconds though.

Luz (George, as he’s untroduced himself) watches her do it with an amused smile from the opposite side of the table. Alex Penkala still has that arm of his thrown over her shoulder.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he inquires, picking up another nearby glass of water - this one half full - and handing it over to her.

She shrugs as she swallows it all down in one go. Christenson is standing nearby, she doesn’t catch the sympathetic look he throws at her when she places the second glass back on the table noisily.

“I jus’ learnt” she provides, choosing to omit the fact that what they’ve just witnessed outside has been nothing but sheer luck. She’d just aimed to where she thought the glass was standing - which doesn’t mean she isn’t an _actual_ avid shooter, but there is a limit to all human ability and getting a target off range in pitch dark with an M1 is the limit to _her_ human ability. “My old man - he’s a good shot.”

“You from New York?” Skip leans over the table with a cigarrette between his lips and a friendly face, he squints at her. 

A slight and desinterested nod from her has him celebrating his right guess.

“Whereabouts?” Penkala asks, cocking his head casually, stealing the cigarette right from his friend’s mouth and getting a smack on the head for it.

“Brooklyn. Are there any apples?” She stands up with the intention of finding that out, getting a piece of fruit or anything that isn’t too oily or savoury - no proper dinner for her weak stomach tonight. No sooner has she got on her feet than Alex Penkala is pushing her down again, his never-leaving arm over her shoulders the culprit.

“Hey Perconte!” he whistles right on her ear, and she shrugs him off with annoyance. “An apple for the Big Apple boy!”

She turns around to see a short black-haired guy rolling his eyes and rumagging behind him on the other side of the kitchen counter.

“I ain’t your butler Penkala, why don’t you come’n get it yourself?!” he barks back.

“Hey! It’s for Oli here, c’mon!”

“Well he got legs, don’t he?”

Olivia fights down a sigh and stands up, then a hand coming from her right throws a green apple upwards in front of her for her to catch - which she does, albeit rather sloppily.

“Thanks.”

“So you had like, camouflage training n’ all that?” the apple-giver asks, he isn’t the tallest man around by any chance, his hair is slightly ruffled, his eyes are rather blue-ish. He takes a seat to her right, blocking the only way out of affectionate Alex Penkala’s embrace.

“Yes, concealment, observation… A lot of standing still and sitting still and lying still” she almost laughs at their scowls and groans of feigned boredom. “Weather conditions, map reading-”

“We do map reading!” Muck chimes in.

“Weather?” apple man frowns to her left. “Really?”

She turns to him and takes a bite off the fruit.

“Wind and temperature can cause a bullet to miss its target, you gotta take it into account before you pull the trigger” she explains.

“Sound to me like an excuse for being a shitty shot” Private Guarnere interrumpts from the corner. Olivia isn’t one to judge people on first encounters, but he surely is a grumpy one: he’d snatched his bag back from her hands with as much an unfriendly manner as Sobel had done. “What if it’s too hot? Won’t your ammo melt right down?”

His teasing prompts another wave of laughter among the men on the table, Olivia stops herself from rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t know you needed to study metheorology to get in the army” Muck joins in.

“Well, it’s just a couple of lessons…”

“Should’ve been running, boy” Guarnere smiles once again, mockingly. “You need a couple o’ lessons on that!”

Another round of laughter has her taking a rather hasty bite from her apple and she stops trying to explain anything else to them - most of the group disbands soon after, heading outside for a smoke or a game of cards. Private Martin - the apple private - takes a look at her filthy looking hair and sweaty collar and tells her to go get a shower before he leaves, as if she hasn’t been considering it already. As if she’d just go to sleep with that grim all over her neck and face.

On her table only a redhead remains - minus one Popeye, who had been asleep through all the commotion and still _now_ hadn’t batted an eye opened once.

“How come you the only company in tonight?” she gestures towards Don, pretty sure that’s what Skip had called him earlier before he stole his pack of Lucky Strikes and sprinted off with Penkala on his tail.

Don snaps his head up from his letter a few seconds later and gives her a tired look.

“Sobel’s favourite hobby, revoking our weekend passes” is what he says before he turns back to his paper. He’s clearly not in a talkative mood and she needs to hit the showers and carefully plan her whole approach - so she leaves him and sleepy Popeye to make each other company.

“See you, then…”

“Malarkey” he offers with a monotonous voice, not looking up. “Donald.”

“Right. Night.”

Once outside, she stands there like an idiot, turning left and right unsure of where to go. Last time she saw her muffle bag it was on Sobel’s office steps, being left there as she ran after him to beg for a chance to prove her worth. She isn’t particularly keen on the idea of returning there to retrieve her belongings - doesn’t want to have to face him again, lest he change his mind and send her walking to the nearest bus station. _I suggest you go back to whatever shithole you came out of and repeat whatever shitty training you got._

Fortunately, her inner worries dissipate soon as she catches sight of Lieutenant Winters, approaching with steady pace and both her bag and rifle thrown over his shoulder.

The fact that he’s smiling before he reaches her already makes Olivia take a liking to him.

“Private Brown” he acknowledges, and she stands straight. “At ease.”

“Sir” the takes her things off his hands with a nod. “Thank you, sir.”

“You got a bed yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Let’s find you one” he sends a distrustful look to the cloudy sky and starts walking. “That was quite an impressive showdown back there.”

“Thanks...”

_I was lucky to hit that glass at all._

“You definitely lifted the mood, make a couple of friends already, I assume?"

"Yeah, I think we bonded alright. _._." _Penkala's a bit clingy, though. But Christenson's pretty decent._

"I'm sure you did" he nods.

Olivia stares at his expression for a little too long before she understands it. _Jesus, do the the C.O's hate Sobel as well?_

She can definitely tell Winters isn't a fan by a long strech. It's the smile that he's unsuccessfully trying to fight down what gives him away.

"Here we are, there ought to be a couple of spare beds in here."

She follows him inside, where two idle soldiers stand to attention soon as they catch sight of their superior, a couple of cards helplessly flying to the ground in their haste to get off the bed.

"At ease," Winters immediately says, and Olivia drops her things by the second bed to her right. Someone's definitely been sent home. "This is private Brown" Winters waves a hand in her direction as her two fellow troopers resume their game.

"Yeah, we know" one of them - looks a tad bit older than the rest, she thinks - sends a friendly smile her way.

Winters doesn't try to supress _his_ smile this time, he turns to her and gives another short nod.

"All in order?"

The sheets smell like dust and the cot looks as uncomfortable as she knows them to be. 

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Sleep well then, I'll see you in the morning."

She salutes him before he's got a chance to turn around and leave without waiting for it. She can see he's not that kind of officer. Not the _Sobel_ kind of officer. More on the _Campbell_ side, she considers, but she doesn't let her thoughts wander in that direction yet. She _saw_ him a couple of hours ago, surely she can't be getting all nostalgic already?

"Heard ya gave Sobel a hard time over a glass" one of the soldiers on the bed comments, looking at her as the other one watches his own cards in deep thought. 

"I guess so" she shrugs, not quite sure where she stands with these two. She can't go making assumptions this early, she’s already managed to get on her Captain’s bad book so nothing good will come out of her celebrating the incident. Can’t quite join in on the joke, not yet.

There's a laugh.

"Ya guess?" 

She stops unpacking her belongings - a book and a small notebook all she's brought along from home - and turns around. 

The one who smiled at her earlier stands up and approaches. She meets him halfway, ready to shake his already outstretched hand.

"Sargeant Lipton" he says, and _boy_ isn't she glad she didn't let herself get too excited about mocking Sobel now. "Welcome."

"Thanks. Oliver, which you already know…" 

"Everyone's gonna know it by tomorrow boy" blondie adds with his thick southern accent.

"That's Bull" the sargeant points behind him. "He's friendlier than he looks" he adds under his breath before smiling kindly again and returning to the bed. "Ain't that right, Bull?"

"What's that?"

Olivia returns to her task - mostly turns around to hide the smile that creeps onto her face as she gathers up a change of clothes.

"What did you say? That ya gonna to lose this round again? Damn right you are."

Maybe she'll get lucky. Maybe her platoon's not that bad. Maybe. Maybe it'll all be nice and well.

Except for the going to war bit, that is. 

※ ※ ※

The first good thing that happens to her in Camp Toccoa is finding the showers empty. She doesn't wait around to see that change - in fact, she probably breaks a record, quickly handling the soap with one hand and keeping a towel in the air with the other, blocking any incomers' view from her cubicle.

She's in the farthest corner but that does nothing to put her mind at ease. She's done before two whole mintutes have gone by and returns to the barracks with her hair still damp.

She knows she got lucky today, with most of the camp empty; still, she pushes that thought away in favour of getting some very much awaited rest.

And she's out before anyone else, probably. 

Which - if she weren't so exhausted - would also make her a bit uneasy: first day, bunch of guys in close proximity, hot as hell that she can't cover herself with anything lest she draw more attention than she's already getting for being the new one. 

Not that there’s much to cover up anyway - but then again, her lack of volume up there is nothing but helpful in a situation like this. Bandages can only _do_ so much. Again: she’s too tired tonight to pay any of it any mind.

Just before she drifts off she seems to hear Mike somewhere near, saying something along the lines of... dirt and sleeping, and penises.

"Jesus Penkala, grow up -"

"Shhh, _you_ grow up" Skip answers in his friend's behalf, standing close behind.

"How would you like it if I put a rat on your face while _you_ slept?"

"I'd kick ye in the balls - we're not putting it in his face now _shut up_ " Skip continues to whisper, as his blue-eyed friend squats down and places the tiny animal next to Oliver's right foot.

"Where did you get a rat, anyway?" Don takes a bite of his Hershey bar as he stands at the foot of the bed, stance quite relaxed and looking not the least bit remorseful. 

"I did!" Comes the unnecessary loud answer from the third bed opposite. 

Alex stops frozen in his half-risen position at the sight of the new sniper mumbling in his sleep.

"Damn it, Perconte!" 

"Shhhhh!"

"It was in that dirty-old kitchen" Frank adds, voice unlowered.

"Should've saved it for the stew" Joe mumbles, before he turns over on the bed to face Liebgott, who's been chewing that gum for at least an hour now and is watching the macabre plan unamused. "Right, Lieb?"

Liebgott doesn’t have time to answer, but he does roll his eyes as a high-pitched scream echoes through the room, followed by an outburst of laughter and one John Martin rising up from his slumber with a curse.

"Here we go" Joseph mumbles, resuming his writing, uninterested.

"For fuck's sake, can't we have one quiet night?!"

"Aw, come on, Johnny..."

Olivia can feel her hair sticking out in various directions and she's blinking into focus when Martin comes over to take the rat off the cot, looking like he's about to fish out his bayonette and stick it in someone's throat.

"Wait!" She snaps.

Meanwhile, that trio of devils is barely holding it together at the sight of her sleepy and terrified face - undoubtedly the pranksters. 

She stumbles over to Martin and cups her hands next to his.

"I'll take it" she says, shaking her head, as if that’s going to make her slurry words less slurry. 

Private Martin lets the tiny animal fall on her hands with an unhappy grunt - it stops squeaking in pain and quickly scurries over her arm. She grabs it again.

"Everybody go to _fucking_ sleep!" 

"Hey, it's still early!" Frank protests, just now getting comfortable with a book on his lap. 

Olivia sends a killer glare to both Skip and Penkala when she walks past them to set the rat free outside. They're still enjoying themselves when she comes back in.

"Real mature guys, nice" she makes a face and rolls her eyes. "You pull something like that again and my finger may just slip next we target-practise" she warns, still half-asleep, word filter not really on.

Luckily, they know she means nothing by it. 

"If I hear _one more word-_ " Martin starts again.

"Alright, grandpa!"

"Yeah, Johnny, we're in bed, we're in bed, see?" Alex insists, as he jumps on his (very far away, Olivia notices with joy) cot.

She doesn't drift off for another thirty minutes after that. Whoever's on her left seems to be quite dead - which leads her to believe it's Popeye, if the golden hair is anything to go by. On her right, a dark-haired soldier she hasn't met turns over and meets her eyes and points a finger gun at her a couple of seconds before someone turns the lights off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's been ages, I know... Here, have some more Camp Toccoa shenanigans (enjoy it while it lasts, Normandy is only a couple of chapters away eyyyyyyyy).

"Private Brown! Are you incapable of understanding the instructions?! Should I spell them out for you?!"

"No, sir!"

"You need more than just a rifle to live through the war!"

"Yes, sir!"

"And you will be of no use to this company if you don't make it out of the goddamn plane! Get back on the line!"

She goes round the back and climbs up again, right behind Popeye, who doesn't miss the opportunity to turn around and show her just how amused he is by the whole situation.

"Damn, he sure hates you the most" he giggles, taking another step forward as Skip makes his own jump - and is met with complete silence from their Captain.

_Lucky brat._

Olivia's too tired to give an answer so she just shoves Popeye forward with annoyance. Oh, she knows that, alright. She can feel Sobel's negative aura radiating off him and looming over her like a hungry invisible monster. An insatiable monster.

"Stand in the door" the tall devil orders, and Popeye is next.

"One-thousand! Two-thousand! Three-thousand! Four-thousand!"

He clearly forgets to turn on his side upon reaching the ground, but Sobel makes no noise, no doubt waiting for her turn again to suddenly spit all his anger at once.

"Stand in the door" he says again, with that monotonous voice of his, like he's bored out of his mind, and she suddely has the urge to place herself behind him and shove him forwards with such force that he'll break his neck upon landing on that patch of dirty sand.

He's shouting at her before she's back on her feet - hardly unexpected anymore.

"Still not good enough, _private_ " he says, and Olivia bites her tongue and feels the lower half of her body aching like it's never done before - she tries to conceal her murderous face by slightly crouching down to catch her breath. "You just earned yourself two more hours of latrine duty" Sobel adds, "go back up."

She does, feeling her chute weighing her down and down with every step she takes.

When she finds herself behind Popeye again he doesn't say a word. He sends her an apologetic look that she doesn't catch - she's too busy trying not to lose her nerve.

What was it Captain Miller used to tell them?

Detachment, that's right.

Detachment. And inner peace. And breathing deep. And keeping focus.

And if you have an itch, let it itch. And if you have to move, _I don't give a damn, I ain't gonna be writing up letters to your mommys that I didn't train you properly. Unless there's a fucking kraut breathing down your neck, you keep silent as grave and still as a goddamn corpse!_

"Stand in the door."

And if you have to give your Hitler clone of a captain a piece of your mind...

"You're a joke, Private Brown!"

Inner peace.

Inner peace.  
  


※ ※ ※

"Sixteen times."

"Sixteen?!"

"Yup. I counted them." Popeye nods.

"What a bastard" Alex mumbles, keeping a cigarette in between his lips and gesturing wildly towards Don for a lighter. "What'd Oli do?"

"Whaddaya _think_?" Muck interrupts. "Keep his pretty little mouth shut like a baby."

"His mouth said nothing but his eyes surely were screamin' murder" Hoobler adds. "I thought he was gon' kick him in the balls, sure looked like he wanted to" he laughs.

"We all want to kick him in the balls" Muck shakes his head.

"True" Don considers. "Sixteen times... Man, I got _my_ ass hurting from my seven."

"Listen, boy's gonna open his mouth any day now" Bull adds, proping up his legs on the closest chair. "Will be goin' home 'for the week ends."

"Nah" Alex frowns. "He's smart, I'm telling you they train them for that."

"And you know everything about it" Don laughs, "about sniper training."

"I've been talking to him" Penkala shrugs, and he turns to Skip then, "Right?"

"Yeah, I think he's sick of you already more than he is from Sobel."

That prompts a shove that's got him almost falling off the stool, and the ones tuned in on the conversation errupt into a collective laugh.

"Where is he now, anyway?"

"Scrapping shit outta toilets" Perconte comes closer and leans over Donald to grab an apple that Alex keeps out of his reach playfully - until it gains him a smack on the face. "With Luz."

"Well, at least he's got nice company, eh?" comes George's voice just from behind.

He plops down on a nearby chair, his wet hair dripping just a drop or two over his shoulders. 

"You done already?!" Alex frowns, "where's Oli?"

"Well I don't know, Penkala" Luz mocks with a smile and a roll of his eyes, "it's your job to babysit him."

That prompts more laughter and something that looks quite a bit like a pout from Alex himself.

"Was gonna shower last time I talked to him," George continues, "also told me that he hates that nickname and that you're a really annoying boyfriend" he finishes with a wink, before being proudly patted on the back by Bull. 

"Shut up" Alex bites out, crossing his arms as Muck draws him into an affectionate hug that proves rather impossible to shrug off. 

"I thought _I_ was your sweetheart!"

"But really, he doesn't appreciate the nickname" George adds, mouth full and pointing at Penkala with his fork as if to back-up his statement, "he's a little bit agressive that kid." 

"Sobel's been getting on his nerves." Popeye explains.

"Yeah?" George shrugs, "whatever's new."

"No, but I mean he's _really_ out to get him."

"Speak of the devil..." Muck mumbles under his breath as their Captain walks into the diner with a confident stride. He stops at the entrance and surveys the many packed tables with his usual deadpan expression. The boys suddenly find the glassware on the table and the window to the side amazingly interesting. 

Sobel eyes the group with an unwavering stare from afar and when he starts making his way over they pointedly avoid his gaze. He walks past. 

"Jesus," Muck exhales, glancing at Malarkey right in front of him who returns the uneasy look, "I thought he was gonna send us up again." 

"Don't count your eggs before they hatch, son..." Bull provides, stealing a surreptitious glance behind him as Sobel leans over the counter and chats with one of the cooks in a low and conspirational tone. 

"No way" Alex frowns, "we're jumping tomorrow!" 

George, who had very happily been swallowing down his smashed potatoes and peas, stops moving altogether as he stares at his almost-empty plate. "Aw, man" he bites his lower lip and looks up to see Bull laughing at him, "I just showered" he adds, glancing down at his clean white top and dust-free cargo pants. 

"He can't make us run six miles before our tests" Popeye says with resolution. Everyone turns to him, "...can he?" 

There's a span of five seconds of dreadful silence as they all imagine their inevitable fate.

"No, he can't," comes the gentle yet playful reassurance, and they all look up to see Lieutenant Winters holding a tray of food and sporting a warm smile. Skip leans back on his seat letting out a deep breath he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding. Malarkey returns the Lieutenant's smile. "I would advise you to have a light breakfast tomorrow, though" Winters adds, placing a warm hand on George's shoulder. 

"Sure thing" Luz flashes a toothy grin and picks up the fork to eagerly resume eating his dinner. "Light breakfast, got it."

An easy smile tugs at Winters' lips and he turns around shaking his head to join Lipton on a nearby table.

There's about thirty more minutes of lively chatting and eating until the kitchen is closed off for the night and most of the trainees head off to kill the last two hours before curfew somewhere else. Only a small group remains, taking turns at playing cards and making the appointed dish-washing squad a bit of company.

Olivia walks into the half-empty place with a curse already on her lips. She doesn't let it out but she can't help a groan and it's only then that her presence is noted. Luz looks up from Bull's set of cards and shows her a big smile.

"Heeeeey! If it isn't Oli!" 

She makes her way over with a killing glare.

"Hey, guys! You met Oli yet?" George continues, nodding towards a couple of guys from Dog Company. "He's from Brooklyn."

"Boy, whatcha' doin'?" Randleman interrupts as he sees her wordlessly make her way past their table towards the counter, "there ain't no food left."

"Champs, this is Oli" Luz continues to ramble, voice as loud as ever, "He shoots fine. Hey Oli, c'mere!"

Olivia musters up her most kicked-puppy face but not even that makes the guys on the kitchen take pity on her. In fact, they don't seem the least bit bothered by it - apart from Shifty, that is, but he still gives her a helpless shrug that means 'no food'.

Shit.

Well.

She's still got some of that candy Mike left her.

"Where the hell you been?" George inquires, seemingly done with the teasing, a cigarette dangling between his lips. She slumps down on the next table. "You know the timetable."

"Hmph" she manages with defeat, the day's running and jumping and falling on the sand and falling on the sand and falling on the sand starting to take its toll. She makes a face, for a moment thinking she can still smell shit.

_Ugh._

She had to witness some lanky guy from Fox Company take a dump in front of her today.

The highlight of her week.

"Just don' hang about" Bull provides as he waits for his opponent to make his move. "I reckon there'll be no time for long showers when we're fighting nazis. May as well get used to it."

"Hey, let the kid have some me-time!" George starts again, Olivia runs a hand over her face. "We all need our privacy, eh?" he turns to her with that shit-eating grin and winks. 

The small group erupts in laughter. Olivia rolls her eyes at the suggestive hand-motions and stands up, thinking of hearing Mike's voice at the back of her head telling her that _boys are fucking stupid_.

"Hey, Oli!" George calls just as she reaches the door, "no need to run away! Hey! We all got needs! Oli!"

" _Jesus_ " she mumbles under her breath, pace getting quicker. He's a proper nuisance, isn't he?

_Now whose fault is that? None but yours._

But she can't well ask them to call her Livy, can she?

Even if it wasn't a girls' endearment, even if it wasn't all sorts of weird, they'd never use it. Not when they knew 'Oli' ticked her off. 

Him. Him off.

Her.

Ah, fuck it.

"Oli!"

She definitely should've kept her mouth shut.

"Hey Oli!"

She doesn't stop. In fact, she doesn't even turn, she shows no sign of having heard him at all. 

Still he runs up to her, she doesn't need to turn around to know Skip's right on his tail. Joined at the hip, those two are.

" _Brown!_ "

She only turns around so he'll stop shouting - they'll have heard that from the other fucking side of the camp.

"What?!"

Sure enough, her two most favourite paratroopers-to-be in all of Toccoa join her walk, each taking a place beside - which only prompts her to squint at them in suspicion. 

(By "favourite paratroopers" of course she means: arch-enemies.)

"Why the hurry? Devil's chasin' ya?" 

Olivia looks at Penkala and smiles.

"Something like that."

When she looks back to the front there's a wrapping being held before her face by Muck. 

"You keep skippin' meals you'll fly away when that canopy deploys - what, you on a diet or something?"

And then she halts. Draws in a deep breath.

"Oh" she blurts out, slowly unwrapping it and seeing it's a sandwich. She steals a glance at Skip but he's facing away blowing out the smoke from his cigarette. 

She purses her lips.

Well.

"Thanks" she says, and her two arch-enemies both offer uninterested nods as the three of them slowly resume their walking. 

Well this is unexpectedly nice.

This is _out-of-character_ nice.

She parts the two pieces of bread and sees a handful of mostly mashed-up peas in between. When she puts it back together and brings it to her mouth she notices Penkala giving her a funny look.

"Just checkin' it's not a rat sandwich" she says with a full mouth, unable to stop herself from laughing at his offended expression.

"Fair enough" Skip admits from the other side, as he passes the cigarette over to Alex. 

Okay. It turns out these two can be decent when they feel like it (and if she is just _a bit_ overwhelmed by the gesture she doesn't let it show. She doesn't let it show at all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Penkala is kinda getting out of hand, isn't he? Oh I love one (1) power duo.  
> (Can I just say: I LOVE COMMENTS. Please let me know what you thiiiiink - Oh and check out [**the new poster**](https://smuggsy.tumblr.com/post/622315001830637568/in-plain-sight-chapter-4-a-band-of-brothers) I made for this!)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Feedback feeds the story (and the writer). Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://smuggsy.tumblr.com/) (:


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